


Can you see my scars

by ZainClaw



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon Divergent, Family of Choice, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, based on the secret ending, the deputy joins Eden's Gate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZainClaw/pseuds/ZainClaw
Summary: Rook can't bring himself to arrest Joseph Seed after getting a vision of what will happen if he does, and joins Eden's Gate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I finished this damn game I knew I had to write fic for it, one way or another, so here we are. This is basically just me wanting to "fix" John Seed and explore Eden's Gate from an inside perspective. I love all Seed siblings, so there'll be plenty of interaction with Rook and all of them. I've read most of _The Book of Joseph_ which is what I'll base the brothers' backstory on.
> 
> I simply made the deputy's name "Rook" in this fic, because I couldn't bring myself coming up with a new name for him. In case you're curious to what he looks like, I commissioned the lovely [Yui](https://rainbowwbroker.tumblr.com/) to draw him for me, [here](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/174348531082)!
> 
> Title from the song "Scars" by Boy Epic.
> 
> COVER ART BY THE LOVELY [HALES-EMISSARY](http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com/). SHE IS AMAZING AND I LOVE HER TO DEATH.

 

I

 

 

It starts the second he steps out of the helicopter.

An unsettling sensation sparks to life in his gut as soon as his feet touch ground. It grows stronger as they head toward the church, walking through the small compound under a full moon. Dogs are barking somewhere nearby. People are standing about, watching them as they walk past; men and women wearing the project's odd cross on their clothes. There's a bonfire, filling the warm night air with the smell of dry wood and smoke.

"Rook," Hudson says, turning her head to glance at him over her shoulder. "On me."

He nods, making sure not to fall behind.

The people seem riled up by the mere sight of their uniforms, slowly gathering up behind them as they walk. Rook glances up to read 'CHURCH OF EDEN'S GATE' on top of the white gate as they walk through, looking over his shoulder moments later to see it clicking shut behind them. A big man with a spiked bat is trailing just a few feet after him, and their eyes lock. Rook hurries to look away.

A singing choir can be heard from within the small church, and the sound of it sends a shiver down Rook's spine. It's beautiful, angelic and divine; so out of place, considering what he knows of Eden's Gate. His heart aches at the familiar hymn, distant memories threatening to claw their way to the surface, and he hurries to swallow them back down.

The Sheriff stops the Marshal just as he's about to open the doors, no doubt planning to simply burst in and expect everyone to respect the badge on his belt, or at least the gun on his hip. The fact that these people are armed, and already circling them like vultures, doesn't seem to faze him. Hudson stands with her shotgun in hand, already covering their backs even before the Sheriff orders her to. She doesn't look scared, and Rook wonders if he does.

If all goes as planned, the only weapon he'll be using are the handcuffs currently attached to his belt. He's the one doing the arrest. A grand first one, as someone back at the station had said. At the time, Rook had agreed.

"You'll be fine," Hudson tells him, meeting his eyes steadily as the Sheriff finally opens the doors.

He wants to believe her.

The song dies down just as they enter. It's dim inside the church, and Rook's gaze is immediately drawn to a glowing cross above the altar. It makes it difficult to make out anything but the silhouette of the man standing up on the stage, casting a tall shadow over the floorboards.

"Something is coming." The voice cutting through the silence echoes between the bare walls, and the power of it shoots through Rook like a bolt of lightning. He recognizes it from the footage he'd been watching just before they landed. He knows who it belongs to. "You can feel it, can't you?"

Rook hesitates before following the Marshal and Sheriff as they step further in, walking down the small aisle towards the voice. His heart is racing now, a liquid heat coursing through his veins. The people who'd been standing with their backs to the door turn to watch the intruding trio, slowly moving out of the way to let them through.

Rook's focus stays on the silhouette up by the altar, seeing the shape of a man turn to face them. His shadow reaches out towards them, touching their feet as they draw closer. He keeps talking—despite their presence, despite their interruption. Men and women rise from their seats on each side as they walk past, and yet he keeps preaching.

"They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. Take our freedom. Take our faith."

Halfway down the aisle, the man finally comes into focus, and Rook sees the face of Joseph Seed for the first time. The man is covered in tattoos and scars, standing shirtless in front of his followers for all to see. His voice rises in volume as he goes on, now speaking directly to the men approaching him as his tone grows harsh, spiteful. Challenging, maybe.

"We will not let their greed, or their immorality, or depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more _suffering_."

Seemingly egged on by the man's nonchalance, the Marshal ignores the Sheriff's continuous pleas to wait, to stay calm, and holds up the arrest warrant. Joseph Seed goes quiet, letting the Marshal say his piece with a blank expression. Rook's breath is ragged, his gaze nervously flickering between Joseph and the other three people up on the stage. He'd barely noticed them before, but he knows who they are: Jacob, John, and Faith. Their faces are all up on the wall back at the Sheriff's station next to Joseph's.

"Now, I want you to step forward," the Marshal prompts firmly, "and keep your hands where I can see 'em."

Rook watches in disbelief as Joseph starts raising his hands, thinking for a split second that the man is going to come willingly, but it's just a hoax. As the believers grow worried, calling out for them to go back from whence they came, Joseph uses his hands to point at them down on the floor as he keeps talking, keeps _preaching_ ; picking up where he left off as if he was never confronted by a U.S. Marshal.

"There they are," he announces calmly. "The locusts in our garden." As he speaks, a small group of men clutching their guns gather in front of the stage, creating a wall between their leader and the intruders threatening to steal him away. "They've come to destroy all that we've built."

Annoyed at being ignored, Marshal Burke reaches for his gun. The Sheriff yells at him to _stand down_ while Joseph's followers erupt in loud shouts and taunts. Cruel words and threats bounce between the walls of the small church, and Rook half expects Hudson to burst through the doors ready to save their asses. He stares in horror as one of the men protecting Joseph almost seems to _dare_ the Marshal to take the shot, looking almost _eager_ to sacrifice himself just to keep the leader safe.

Eventually Joseph steps down from the stage, putting his hands on two of the men's shoulders, and his worshippers fall into silence. Rook sees John Seed—the youngest brother—move from his spot in the shadows, drawing closer to the center of the stage that his brother had left vacant. Rook can't read the look on his face, but his body language screams of _caution_. The sound of his boots echoes in the quiet before Joseph speaks to his men.

"We knew this moment would come. We've prepared for it." Behind him, Jacob and Faith draw closer to John. Jacob's strong arms are crossed over his chest, and he turns his head to exchange a look with John before shaking his head. Out of the three of them, he's the only one who looks concerned; as if he's the only one grasping the seriousness of the situation. "Go," Joseph says. When the men hesitate, he says it again. " _Go._ "

Rook feels his heart stop when Joseph's eyes turn to where he's standing in the middle of the aisle, as the crowd reluctantly head for the doors.

"God will not let them take me."

And Rook feels that heat inside him flicker like a burning flame in the wind. _Doubt_.

The men walk past him on each side, like running water parting for a rock, and the look on their faces makes Rook shudder. There's threat, there's worry, there's plead. And some part of Rook suddenly feels for them, despite knowing he shouldn't. As they fill out, leaving only the Seed siblings up by the altar, Joseph raises his arms and quotes the Book of Revelations. Rook tries desperately to ignore the way every word seems to pull at something deep inside of him, breath catching.

 _Come and see_.

"Step forward," the Marshal repeats, clearly out of patience.

Words are still falling from Joseph's lips as he takes a step towards the Marshal, stubbornly finishing his verse. The Marshal looks pissed, while the Sheriff's shoulder remain tense. Rook realizes the Marshal had been right—the Sheriff _is_ scared. He even takes a small step back when Joseph's eyes slowly travel over to him.

"…and behold, it was a white horse…"

Rook stands like frozen, watching _doubt_ color Sheriff Whitehorse's face. Joseph's piercing gaze leaves him to lock eyes with Rook once again, and this time it's more than a glance. This time, he doesn't look away.

"…and Hell followed with him."

He holds out his hands towards him, as if offering up his wrists. Rook lets out a shaky breath, staring into Joseph's eyes through the yellow specs.

"Deputy," the Marshal growls to his left. "Cuff this son of a bitch."

Joseph shakes his head slowly, eyes not leaving Rook. The man looks so at peace, so sure. Like his arrest hadn't been approved by a federal judge and three men of the law just walked into his church to bring him in. Like nothing could touch him.

"God will not let you take me," he tells them.

 _No_ , a voice agrees somewhere deep inside Rook. _He won't_.

Rook blinks, feeling like he has to pull himself out of a haze to reach for his belt. His gloved hand touches the handcuffs, never taking his eyes off the man before him. Joseph steadily holds his gaze, radiating calm and whatever else that keeps _tugging_ at Rook's heart. The world around them feels blurry, out of focus. Like he's being held under water. Rook lets out another shaky breath, and even that sounds distant to his ears.

He steps forward, surprised when his legs don't give in. He swallows, a lump forming in his throat without him understanding why. He detaches the handcuffs from his belt, breath stuttering as he takes yet another step closer to Joseph. Those eyes are watching him closely from behind the glasses, awaiting his next move. Rook feels every fiber in his body hesitate, wanting to do nothing but turn and _run_ , but the Marshal's impatient words reach him as if through a fog, and he takes the final step towards The Father.

The second his fingers wrap around Joseph's wrist, it feels like the world is pulled out from beneath his feet. Images and emotions suddenly flash before his eyes, as if he's being pulled inside a dream despite being wide awake.

 _The first seal has been broken_.

Water filling his lungs, and John's blurry face hovering over him. Running through an underground bunker, reading 'IN THE END YOU WILL THANK US' on the walls. Lying on the floor of a church, hands clutching at John who's pinning him down as pain sparks from his chest. John lying broken and bleeding in the mud, grabbing for his wrist to try convince him that the people locked inside his bunker are already safe. Saying "may God have mercy on your soul" with his dying breath.

_What if Joseph is right?_

Being led by the hand by Faith through a wheat field, her voice full of hope as she whispers "now you'll see, now you'll truly understand". The Marshal sitting across from him in a row boat, a smile on his face, saying he doesn't want to go back. Faith saying the Sheriff is a wall between him and The Father, keeping him from seeing the truth. Faith's body falling into the water, after he rejected her hand.

 _The path to Eden is clear, to those who have faith_.

Being tied to a chair with Jacob standing over him, explaining how this time the needs of the few outweighs the needs of the many. A song penetrating his skull, impossible to get out. His vision going red, teeth bared like an animal. Jacob's voice echoing inside his head, praising him as he kills on command. Eating meat from a bowl while a wolf chews on someone's arm next to him. Jacob beckoning him closer, blood coloring his dog tags, ready to die.

 _The weak always think of themselves as heroes_.

Joseph's hands on his shoulders, telling him he's not beyond salvation. Standing in a bliss field, with Joseph leaning in to rest their foreheads against one another. Joseph offering him to walk away unharmed, despite having killed all his siblings. Joseph screaming "I can save you" even while being shot at. "You have to believe me." A big cloud of smoke rising across the water, before the wave hits. The world on fire, and Pratt screaming from the backseat. Joseph carrying him out of the wreckage.

 _I am your Father, and you are my child_.

When he returns to himself again, tears are breaking from his eyes as he blinks. He finds himself holding onto Joseph's hand as if his life depends on it, and Joseph holding Rook's with both of his in turn. Disorientated, Rook stares into the man's eyes, heart pounding against his ribs. Joseph is meeting his gaze with _wonder_ , and Rook gets the strange feeling that he knows what he just saw.

The Collapse. He saw the goddamn Collapse.

"Rook?" The Sheriff asks to his right, concern and confusion evident in his voice. "You alright?"

Rook simply shakes his head, breath uneven. He is _not_ alright. He looks to the three people standing behind Joseph, all of them watching him with bewildered eyes. They're alive, but he'd seen them die. He remembers killing them, like the memory from an old dream. He remembers being so sure of what he was doing, that it was the right thing. But he'd been wrong. He hadn't _saved_ Hudson and the others from the bunkers—he'd only pulled them from the only place where they'd survive the Collapse. He's not a hero.

Joseph had been right.

Joseph _is_ right.

"What the hell is going on?" Mashal Burke demands, brows furrowed.

Slowly, Joseph lets go of Rook's hand—as if unsure whether Rook would be okay without the touch. Rook doesn't stop him, even though his hand feels cold when it's no longer held between the man's big palms. He's wearing gloves, but he could've sworn he felt the heat.

"Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone," Joseph says softly, never once looking away from Rook.

The Sheriff pauses, before nodding once and putting a hand on Rook's shoulder.

"We're leaving, Rook," he says simply.

Marshal Burke gapes at him.

"What the fuck are you doing? Sheriff—"

Rook lets himself be pulled away from Joseph and turned back to the doors of the church, heart sinking at the loss of Joseph's heavy gaze on him. He blinks, trying to make sense of it all as the Sheriff leads him back up the aisle. The Marshal catches up with them, trying to block the way. He yells at them to get back down there, or he'll have them both arrested.

And Rook remembers him in the Bliss; remembers his last words before shooting his own brains out being how he hadn't wanted to leave. Rook's heart clenches at the knowledge that the Marshal believes he'll never be happy, that he thinks his life is meaningless. It's a lot to know about someone you only met a few hours ago.

"So be it," the Sheriff says firmly, before pushing the doors open.

Fresh air hits Rook's face, watching the Sheriff grab Hudson who asks what the hell is going on. The Marshal is still ranting, reluctant to follow as the Sheriff pushes them in direction of Pratt's helicopter, but must realize he won't be able to make the arrest without their cooperation. Joseph's men who'd been ordered to leave the church are standing right outside, peering inside through the open doors.

Rook breathes heavily, turning back around where he's still standing at the end of the aisle after the Sheriff let him go. Joseph Seed is standing where he'd left him, his siblings still gathered behind him. The distance makes it hard to make out their faces again, but this time he knows what they all look like. And he can still feel it—the weight of Joseph's gaze, his presence. It dawns on him that maybe that's what he'd felt as soon as he climbed out of the helicopter, what pulled him to the church.

 _I was always meant to come here_ , Rook thinks to himself, pulse quickening.

He doesn't want to leave—wants to stay here with every bone in his body. He's scared of the images now filling his mind, wondering if he really just avoided a possible future or not. A future where he brought around the end of the world, where he'd tried putting an end to a true prophet of God. And even if he did, what will happen if someone else comes to try arrest Joseph? Will they see what he saw, make them hesitate, or will they take him away from here?

"The Marshal," he finds himself saying, voice hoarse from misuse. "He's still got the warrant. He'll— He could come back with the national guard."

He wishes he was close enough to see the expression flicker over Joseph's face. It could be surprise, it could be the opposite. Either way, his voice still rings of calm when he speaks.

"Everything's gonna be fine. As soon as you get back to the station, Nancy will deal with him." Rook swallows, not sure he understands what that means, or if he even wants to. He vaguely recalls Marshal Burke muttering _fucking Nancy_ next to him in a car from his vision. There's a pause, before Joseph adds: "Thank you, my child."

Rook blinks, not sure what he's being thanked for, or if he deserves it. Nevertheless, the fatherly praise shoots through him like a wave of warmth. He swallows, nodding faintly, before reluctantly turning around to follow the Sheriff and the others back to the helicopter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me happy but comments are what keeps me going ♡
> 
> Come scream about FC5 with me on [tumblr](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it took me to finish this chapter, but I made a lot of big decisions for the story as a whole during this time, so it should go much smoother now. Big thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first chapter. I'm so excited that you're all so into this story!
> 
> Shout out to [Steph](https://patronsaintboomer.tumblr.com/) for being such an awesome cheerleader.

 

II

 

 

Rook doesn't get much rest in the week that follows. He struggles to fall asleep, and even once he does, he is haunted by what he'd seen back in the church. He sees it all again, over and over. Sometimes there are new things, new details or angles he didn't see the first time. And Rook can't decide whether it's just _dreams_ , or if it's some kind of prolonged vision that just won't _stop_.

He jerks awake with one of the Seeds' voices lingering in his mind more times than not, recalling full conversations and what he'd felt when looking them in the eye. He learns the faces of the resistance, feels the metal digging into his palms when helping Nick Rye turn his plane around. Feels a small weight resting on his shoulder, the smell of baby powder filling his nose.

The night he sees Eli's body fall to the ground, he wakes up in cold sweat and won't stop shivering for over an hour.

At the station, the Sheriff tries to move on as if that night never happened. Nancy spoke with the Marshal the same night they got back. He's no longer on the case. That's all they know. Hudson is bursting with questions, and the Sheriff dodges her on a daily basis.

Pratt is bursting too, but he keeps to asking Rook about it in secret. Rook likes Pratt, though he's a bit of an asshole when it comes to pulling jokes at the newbie's expense, but he doesn't know what to tell him. _You weren't there_ , he wants to say. _You wouldn't understand_. Instead he just brushes it off, trying to hint at Whitehorse changing his mind before the arrest. He can't tell whether Pratt buys it or not.

He finds himself staring into the wall of his small apartment several times a day, mind racing. It's difficult to focus on anything with the memory of Armageddon still fresh in his mind. _Go back, go back,_ a voice keeps insisting at the back of his head. He does his best to ignore it, to remind himself of what he knew about Eden's Gate before. He tries to ignore how badly he wants to talk to Joseph Seed again, to talk about what he saw.

 _I can save you_ , Joseph Seed promises in his dreams, leaning down to pick him a flower from the scorched ground. _But you gotta have faith_.

He's scared, of what will happen if he goes back. And he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't.

 

 

 

Barely a week after the failed arrest of Joseph Seed, Rook gets in his pickup truck and heads for the valley. It's his day off, and yet he feels like a kid about to break curfew. He half expects Sheriff Whitehorse to call his cell and demand to know where he's going. It's a hot day, the sun high on a clear sky. He drives with the windows down, the air-conditioning since long broken, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He wonders if they're gonna recognize him out of his deputy uniform. Hopes that Joseph will.

The Father's island is fortress, roads lined with tall fences. Arriving at the compound, Rook parks his truck down by the gate next to a row of white pickups. He half expects someone to grab him and tell him to leave as he enters the grounds, but they let him be.

The place looks different during the day, buzzing with life. On the small grass plain to his left, people are picking the petals of white flowers and putting them in vowed baskets. They don't have weapons. Kids are running barefoot, chasing each other with flowers in their hair. A young couple are dancing, the girl's golden hair flowing in the wind as he gives her a twirl. Smiles are coloring their faces, laughter filling the air.

 _They know_ , Rook thinks to himself. _They know they're safe. They believe._

And a longing tugs at his heart, to feel what they feel.

The doors to the church are open, and the song from within carries over the whole compound. Rook is drawn there, just like last time, only this time he welcomes it. Some people are still watching him as he walks past, but their looks don't feel as hostile. The lack of uniform may be less threatening, but he's still an outsider. Rook knows some of these people have been with the project for years, and he can't blame them for getting wary of a new face.

It's cooler inside the church, a shelter from the punishing heat outside, and Rook lets out a small breath as soon as he steps through the doors. There's a lot more people there than last time, and the power of their singing voices sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn't want to interrupt the sermon, and quickly moves from the door where his shadow is blocking the sun reaching down the aisle.

_Oh lord, the great Collapse  
Won't be our end_

Joseph is up on the stage—not shirtless this time, despite the heat. He's wearing a white button up and a matching stole around his neck, the aura surrounding him even stronger than last time Rook saw him. Neither of Joseph's brothers are with him up on the stage today. There's only Faith who sits on a stool to the side, her beautiful voice ringing louder and clearer than the rest.

_When the world falls into the flames  
We will rise again_

Joseph's got his eyes closed, softly singing along to the hymn. He opens them just as Rook goes to take a seat in the back, gaze drawn to him like a magnet. Rook feels his heart skip a beat, not sure what else to do but stare right back, before Joseph closes his eyes again.

_We will rise again_

Rook sinks down on the bench, swallowing as he tries to calm his racing heart.

Once the song comes to an end, Joseph slowly opens his eyes to let them travel around the room. As if trying to look each and every one of them in the eye, not wanting anyone to feel left out. When he speaks, his voice fills the church just like Rook remembers.

"I know you're afraid. I'm looking right into your hearts, and I can see all the pain and fear eating at you." The woman next to Rook makes a sad agreeing noise, nodding along to Joseph's words, and he feels a surge of sympathy for her. He finds himself wondering what kind of life she has, what kind of troubles she has to endure every single day. "I know you're tired; tired of feeling helpless, of not knowing where you belong."

Joseph moves across the stage as he speaks, hands either slack at his sides or making small, sweeping gestures towards the crowd. He never hides behind the altar, and his voice never reaches the same volume as it had when being approached by the Marshal and Sheriff. It remains soft, convincing—a Father teaching his Children what the world looks like.

He speaks of the Collapse. He speaks of poverty. He speaks of orphans, soldiers, and workers who are constantly let down by the system.

"We love you," he tells them, sounding so sincere it makes Rook's heart ache. "We want you. We accept you, exactly the way you are. Every single one of you."

Rook swallows around the lump forming in his throat, wanting more than anything to believe it.

Afterwards, people follow Faith out of the church while some stay behind to go up to Joseph lingering on the stage. Some shake his hand, others are carefully enveloped in The Father's arms. The woman who'd been sitting next to Rook during the sermon makes her way down the aisle, and Joseph holds out his hands towards her with a warm look of recognition. He gently cups her face to tilt her head down, letting their foreheads rest against one another while their eyes fall closed. Their lips are moving, but Rook can only hear the hint of soft murmurs from where he remains seated in the back.

He wants to go up there, wants Joseph to hold his hands like he'd done last time. He misses the weight of The Father's gaze on him, like he was something special. But he feels unsure to how Joseph will react to his return, so he just sits there with his heart beating faster and faster by every person who walks out the doors.

Finally, the last person reluctantly untangles themselves from Joseph's embrace and leaves the church, and then it's just Rook left. Joseph's eyes are on him in an instant, and Rook fumbles with his hands in his lap as Joseph steps down from the stage.

"You came back."

Rook nods, letting out a shaky breath.

"I couldn't stay away any longer," he admits.

Joseph nods, like he already knew that, as he comes closer.

"Does your Sheriff knows you're here?"

Rook swallows, shaking his head. Joseph nods again—like he expected that, as well. He sits down next to Rook, angling his body towards him, one arm resting on the back of the bench. His eyes are intense, a clear blue even behind the tinted glass. Joseph opens his mouth, but pauses for a few seconds before speaking.

"What do you wish us to call you?" When Rook just blinks in confusion, Joseph makes a shrugging gesture as he elaborates. "Some people who come to us wish to leave their past behind them. Some want to forget everything they were known by. Sometimes even their name."

He raises his brows in renewed question, but Rook shakes his head.

"I'm— No, Rook is fine."

"Rook," Joseph says, as if to try the name out. It feels unworthy, somehow, to fall from The Father’s mouth. Joseph offers him a small smile, regarding him with a slight tilt of his head. "You and I have some things to talk about, don’t we?"

Rook lets out a shaky breath, relieved.

"Yeah."

Joseph nods, turning to look out through the doors of the church. Rook worries for a second that he’s going to say he doesn’t have time for him right now, that he’s too busy. But then Joseph meets his eyes again, and the faint smile on his lips grows ever so slightly.

"We can take your car," he suggests. "I can guide you to our ranch down in the valley. We’ll get some peace and quiet."

Rook wants to nod, feeling privileged to leave with Joseph when so many people here must still crave his attention. But he can't help the way his heart skips a beat at the mention of the ranch. Stuffed animals and leather couches flash before his eyes. He parts his lips, hesitating.

"Will John be there?"

Something flickers across Joseph’s face, at the first real hint that Rook knows more than he should. It's not surprise, it's not anger. Rook thinks it may be sympathy, though he's not sure. Joseph's gaze drifts, leaving Rook temporarily. There's a sadness in his voice when he speaks.

"My brother John is loved by few, feared by many." He pauses, looking distant. "Misunderstood by all. Except me." He slowly looks back to Rook, smiling faintly. "You do not need to fear him, my child."

Rook thinks back on the John from his visions, those icy blue eyes that had stayed with him every morning after he woke up. He thinks of the pained look on John's face when lying there in the dirt, realizing his words were falling on deaf ears. _You don't understand. You don't believe_. Rook thinks of the feeling of John's weak fingers wrapped around his wrist, struggling to hold on as life left him.

He hadn't feared John Seed in his final moments. But up till that point, he had.

So he just nods, not brave enough to say anything that might disappoint The Father. Joseph's smile grows in response, seeming satisfied with the wordless answer.

"Come, then."

Outside, Joseph is still approached by people as they make their way towards Rook's car. It's touching and stressful at the same time, and Rook does his best to remain at Joseph's side.

"Father," a man calls out, stepping out in front of them. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes," Joseph says simply, putting a hand on Rook's shoulder. The weight of it is comforting. "The deputy is driving me down to the ranch."

Rook's heart skips a beat, feeling like he's been _outed_. The man looks at Rook, something flickering across his face. Rook can't say if it's recognition or not. The man's face doesn't ring a bell, but he could've been one of the many men in church that night.

"We can drive you, Father," he insists. "We got the—"

But Joseph just shakes his head, a relaxed smile on his lips.

"That's quite alright, Eamon. I'm perfectly safe." His hand travels from Rook's shoulder to the other man's. "We all are."

Eamon's shoulders relax immediately, and Rook can't decide if it's from The Father's words of reassurance, or the touch.

Down by the gates, the flock of people tending to the flowers has grown even larger. Rook recognizes the woman from the sermon, sitting with two other women by one of the tables. They got their heads bowed together, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls while their hands work on the white flowers. She looks a whole decade younger.

Faith appears out of nowhere, hands reaching for Rook's, and he barely manages not to jerk himself out of her grip. She smells familiar, like the Bliss fields from his dreams, and it's compelling as much as it's repulsing. He meets her curious eyes, expecting her to be amused by him, but instead she just looks… sad.

"You should come visit me," she tells him, smiling encouragingly. "When you have time."

She squeezes his hands before letting go, joining the children running around with hands full of flowers. Rook blinks after her, before turning back to Joseph who's stopped to wait for him. He's looking amused, and Rook can't help but ask.

"What was that about?"

Joseph hums, regarding him for a second.

"You don't think people can recognize their own pain in others?"

It's said so off-handedly, before Joseph simply turns back to proceed towards the car, that it takes a moment for Rook to even process the words. Once he does, he looks back to where Faith had disappeared, but she's gone.

 

 

 

They drive south with the water on their right-hand side, past the small island, and across a red metal bridge. The sign on the other side reading 'WELCOME TO HOLLAND VALLEY' makes something stir inside Rook's belly. He's never been here, and yet it feels like he has. They drive through the apple farm, passing a few quads and trucks. In the distance, clouds are casting shadows on the mountains surrounding over the valley.

Joseph doesn't speak much other than telling Rook when to make a turn, comfortably leaning back in his seat with his arm in the open window. He's taken the stole off, now neatly folded in his lap, and he looks strangely _human_ in this setting. The car radio is on, blasting songs from the local radio station through the poor speakers, and Joseph's thumb is gently tapping along to the rhythm.

Rook can't say where between the bridge and Fall's End it happens, but at some point Joseph stops giving him directions. When they reach the gas station on top of the hill, every fiber in Rook's body wants to keep going straight—seeing the water tower and Jerome's church down below—but he can _feel_ that he's not supposed to. He takes a right, heart skipping a beat when realizing he did so without Joseph's prompting.

Neither of them comment on it, but Rook can feel Joseph watching him—can sense the question on the very tip of his tongue. He glances over, and The Father's eyes seem to shine with that same fascination as right after Rook's vision.

They drive past big crop fields, tractors making dust clouds with their big tires. Next to a big ranch gate entrance is one of John Seed's billboards, reading 'WE LOVE YOU' and the slightly smaller 'AND WE WILL TAKE YOU' at the bottom. Rook takes his foot off the gas, heart lurching in his chest, and Joseph hums next to him.

"We're here," he says, but with a tone that suggests he knows he didn't need to.

The ranch house is beautiful, bigger than most Rook has seen. Its garden is made of wild flowers and bushes, a few tall pine trees breaking free from the tree line framing the property. The hangar is made of the same red timber, plopped down between the house and the airstrip. A few of John's men are patrolling the premise, rifles slung over their shoulders and hand radios hanging from their belts. There's a sniper on top of the watchtower, watching the approaching pickup through his scope.

Joseph points for Rook to park his car outside the hangar, next to a red muscle car. One of the men standing close to the wall, out of the harsh sun, nods his head at Joseph with a soft "Father" when they step out, something warm in his eyes. Joseph touches the man's shoulder, a name falling from his lips that Rook fails to catch.

"Is John home?"

"He took a group out about an hour ago," the man responds. "Said he'd be back shortly. He brought his radio, though."

Joseph hums, hand slowly falling from the man's shoulder as he shakes his head.

"That's alright. I don't wish to disturb his business. Carry on."

The doors to the house are open, welcoming the soft breeze. He follows Joseph through the big living room, around the fireplace, while trying to ignore how Joseph keeps watching him in the corner of his eye. As if scanning his face for _recognition_.

It's not _familiar_ —not like the hill above Fall's End had been. Rook knows he's been here in his dreams, knows he's looked up at the big moose head on the wall and wondered just how big the animal as a whole must've been, but it's not a _clear_ memory. It's not like being dunked in the river, Bliss in his system as he's pulled back up to stand face to face with John Seed. Rook remembers that one perfectly; he can recite every word that was said, can recall how the moonlight had made John's eyes shine.

Joseph offers him to take a seat by the dining table in the back, in front of the big doors looking over the backyard. They sit down across from one another, and Rook feels his heart skip a long beat.

"Go on," the man prompts him gently, watching his own hands put the folded stole next to him on the table. As if Rook was a scared animal that'd get spooked by direct eye-contact. When Rook says nothing by the time he leans back in his chair, one forearm casually resting on the table top, he elaborates. "You have questions. So do I." A small smile pulls at his mouth. "We have to start somewhere."

Rook doesn't expect it to make himself feel better, but it does. He relaxes more into his chair, hands on his knees under the table. There's no need to beat around the bush—they both know what this is about. It just hasn't been spelled out yet.

"I saw something," he begins, and just saying it out loud for the first time is enough to make his body light on fire. He does his best to stay calm, not to panic when recalling the surreal experience. "A vision, I guess? I don't— I don't know."

"When you touched me," Joseph adds, nodding.

Rook exhales shakily.

"Yeah. Did you—"

"I didn't see anything."

"So how did you know?" Rook asks, somewhat desperate. "How did you know I saw something? You—"

He doesn't know how to describe it, the look on Joseph's face. Rook feels heat creep up his neck, at how he's never felt more _in tune_ with anyone in his life. Like someone was looking right through him. _Understanding_ him, completely.

Joseph sits quiet at first, watching the emotions play out on Rook's face. Then he hums, shifting slightly in his seat.

"When we were very young," he begins, "my brother Jacob planned to do something very bad." He looks distant, much like back at the church when he'd been talking about John. "It was when God first spoke to me, when He told me that me and my brothers were meant for greater things. That we had a higher purpose. And when I told Jacob that same night, when I convinced him not to go through with his plan, he _saw_ something in me. He said something in my eyes changed, and it's what stayed his hand. Years later, when God spoke to me again as a grown man, it was like I disappeared within myself. But only for a while. And when I came back, the man standing in front of me looked like he'd seen a ghost."

He scoffs, somewhat dryly, and shakes his head. His gaze slowly grows more present again, focusing on Rook.

"I do not know what others see, when God visits me. But looking into your eyes back in my church, I knew that was it. I knew He spoke to you."

Rook lets out a shaky breath, heart pounding away in his chest. His mind goes blank for a second, having a hard time trying to process the thought of _God_ actually reaching out to him, putting these images in his head. Every nerve in his body is wired tight, and he feels hot and cold all over. What if that's what he'd felt when first stepping out of the helicopter? What had pulled him to the church, to Joseph?

Joseph sits more upright in his chair, clasping his hands on top of the table. That _wonder_ is back in his eyes, and it's making Rook feel good. Makes him feel like maybe he deserves the attention. Maybe he's not crazy.

"Tell me," Joseph pleads, voice like honey. "Tell me everything."

So he does.

He tells Joseph about what he'd seen in the church, every image and feeling that had flashes through him. He tells him about his dreams in the days that followed, and how he's not sure if dreams are all they are. Rook tells him about killing his siblings, about destroying Eden's Gate little by little, until there was nothing left. Until there was just Joseph, left without a flock to lead into the next life. He tells Joseph about the Collapse, about fire eating up the world after all the seals had been broken.

Rook is shaking by the time he finishes, feeling overwhelmed to have said it all out loud. It feels real now, not just something his brain cooked up. Especially with Joseph sitting across from him and devouring every word, eyes kind and full of awe.

"I'm sorry," Rook whispers, needing to say it.

 _Countless of people have been killed, and it is your fault. The world is on fire, and it is your fault_.

Joseph gives him a curious look.

"For what?" He asks calmly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't _do_ any of these things. You accepted God into your heart, at the very right moment, and with His help you made a different choice."

Rook nods, exhaling heavily, hoping that's true. He takes a moment to collect himself, focusing on the leather band wrapped around Joseph's hand. He remembers feeling the beads press into the skin of his palm. It's not a rosary—doesn't have a cross at the end, and its lacking the right amount of beads—and yet that's what it looks like. The only thing that would make sense.

"So what happens now?" He asks eventually. "Did I— Do you think I really stopped it? The Collapse?"

Joseph nods slowly, looking distant for a moment.

"For now," he says. "I hope so. Truthfully, I've been uncertain how to move forward, whether we should begin the Reaping or not. Sheriff Whitehorse entering my church should have been a sign of the end being near, but he did not take me with him. The first seal was never broken."

Rook's heart sinks.

"The Reaping," he repeats, voice small.

Joseph studies him.

"You saw it."

It's not a question, but Rook still nods as he moves his elbows onto the table to fumble with his hands.

"I know you need supplies for the bunkers, to keep the people alive. And I know you need to protect yourselves from—"

 _From people like me,_ he wants to say, but reminds himself that it never happened. He never helped build up a resistance strong enough to take on the project. He never destroyed the three big bunkers that would have saved so many people, because _it never happened_.

"I just wish there was another way," he whispers, worried he'll upset The Father by saying this, but he can't keep it in. "There has to be another way, to get what you need. To make people join up, to make them believe you."

Joseph hums in response, looking equally thoughtful, equally amused.

"And you think I haven't tried?" If not for the calmness of his voice, Rook would've thought he upset him. But Joseph's gaze is kind, patient. He studies Rook's face for a moment before he continues. "Tell me: if Jesus Christ had come to Earth in this day and age, do you think people would have believed him? Would they not call him crazy, for thinking himself to be the son of God? For saying he spoke for Him?"

Rook parts his lips, but no words come out.

"I don't claim to be another Jesus," Joseph goes on. "And I don't claim to be a perfect man. Till this day, I still don't know why God chose me. And perhaps I'm not the only one. Perhaps he told others of the Collapse like he did me, but that doesn't matter. He told me to save as many people as I could, and I intend to do that. I am… one of his prophets."

Rook's chest aches, heart beating too fast when thinking of all the people that will be too far away from a bunker when the wave hits. But he nods, fighting against the tears that are burning behind his eyes.

"And what does that make me?"

Joseph doesn't answer right away, just tilts his head ever so slightly as he watches him closely.

"I'm not sure," he says honestly.

Rook just nods again, not sure what kind of answer he'd been hoping for. Joseph _understands_ , but he's not God himself.

Joseph unclasps his hands then, reaching across the table to gently rest one hand on top of Rook's.

"Son—"

"Don't," Rook says under his breath, before he can stop it. His face burns, heart aching just from that single word. It's been so long since anyone called him that, before Whitehorse did it back at the station on his first week there. And he never said it again.

Joseph doesn't look as bewildered as the Sheriff had at Rook's knee-jerk reaction, merely regards him for a moment.

"Ah."

It's enough. Enough to let Rook know that Joseph gets it.

He feels exposed, having to look away from The Father's intense gaze. Joseph waits patiently, never withdrawing his hand from Rook's knuckles while waiting for him to collect himself. When Rook eventually looks up again, Joseph eyes are full of sympathy. But he doesn't ask, doesn't push, only proceeds to say what he'd been meaning to before.

"Rook. Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are two very different things."

The truth of his words _sting_. Rook swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding some more. He wishes he didn't understand, but he does. He can still hear Jacob Seed talk about the needs of the few outweighing the needs of the many. Because not everybody is salvable. The world isn't meant to survive this. Only a few. And they must be protected, they must be fed, they must be _strong_.

"Let me help," he says after a moment of silence, voice all rasp. "I'm a deputy, I—"

He can't tell if Joseph looks surprised or not.

"You wish to join us?"

Rook parts his lips, heart lurching in his chest. Is he? He thinks about the Sheriff and his colleagues back at the station, how they call this a _cult_. What if they find out he's with them? _Peggies_. Is that what they'll call him? They'll throw him off the force in a heartbeat.

Before he has the chance to give Joseph a real answer, however, the sound of approaching vehicles makes them both pause. A car radio is on high volume, blasting rock music where it's driving up the dirt road. Someone hollers, and John's men outside the house happily answer. Joseph scoffs, slowly withdrawing his hand from Rook's as he leans back.

"Looks like my brother is back," he hums, offering a small apologetic smile as he gets up. "We better go announce ourselves."

Rook prays the hesitance won't show on his face as he nods and follows.

Two white pickups come to a stop in front of the house just as Joseph and Rook step outside, truck beds filled with crates of pumpkins. The music dies, car engines switched off as people climb out of the front seats. They're four in total, three whose names Rook doesn't know. One of them is a woman who waves at the sniper up in the tower, big grin on her face. The man who'd greeted Joseph by the hangar comes over to affectionately punch one of the new arrivals on the shoulder.

John Seed climbs out from behind the wheel of the first truck, the afternoon sun reflecting in the sunglasses perched on top of his head. He's not wearing the vest that Rook remembers him by, just the blue silk shirt that's barely buttoned up halfway, exposing his chest and the jagged letters etched onto it. Sweat is beading on his temples, a few strands of hair breaking free from the rest.

He's got a smile on his lips, looking awfully pleased, until he spots Joseph and Rook coming down the steps. His smile falters, something flickering across his face, and his shoulders sag ever so slightly.

"Joseph?" His voice is soft. _Small_. "I didn't know you were here."

Joseph simply hums, walking over to where John is standing, while Rook decides to hang back. He watches Joseph cup the back of John's head as they both close their eyes briefly, foreheads touching. The sight tugs at something inside Rook, because it's so familiar. He's seen Joseph doing it to John, to Jacob, and even been on the receiving end of it himself.

"I came with the deputy after the sermon," Joseph murmurs once they part.

John's eyes immediately dart over to Rook, blue meeting brown, and Rook thinks he'd probably find it more intimidating if not for the _worry_ he finds there. His heart still skips a beat, uneasy about being the sole purpose of John's attention. John looks back to Joseph.

"But I took care of it," he says, sounding stressed. "I made the call. I—"

"It's alright, John," Joseph assures him, hands still on his brother's shoulders. "Everything is fine. He's not here as a person of the law."

Rook's pulse quickens when John's eyes are on him again, taking him in. Then he nods, and drops his gaze in submission. Joseph lets go of him.

"Now, what's with all these pumpkins?"

At that, confidence returns to John's posture. He meets Joseph's curious gaze proudly, his smile slowly returning.

"Rae-Rae finally agreed to sell us the farm," he announces. "She must've heard that the people over at the apple farm were doing the same. She's gonna go stay with her son back in the city. Apparently she's been wanting to move closer for a while, anyway," John shrugs. He pauses. "The only problem was the dog."

Joseph arches a brow.

"The dog?"

 _Boomer_ , Rook's brain provides. He feels the ghost of a cold, wet nose nuzzling the back of his hand while he's lining up a shot. A surge of warm affection runs through him.

"Yeah, uh—" John drags his fingers through his hair, careful not to knock the glasses off. "She won't be able to take him with her into the city. He's an old cattle dog, he'd get depressed in a small apartment. So I— I told her we'd take care of him."

Rook blinks, thankfully resisting the urge to actually gape. Part of him wants to cheer, at the fact that Boomer is _real_ , that he's alive and well. But more than anything he's shocked by the fact that John Seed promised a woman he'd take care of her dog.

Joseph simply smiles, regarding his brother with amusement.

"You're gonna keep the dog?"

"Not me," John hurries to clarify. "I'll send him to Jacob. He'll like the mountains. That's what I told her."

"Jacob?" Joseph asks. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

John shrugs again, looking more insecure now.

"He always wanted a dog," he mumbles.

Joseph chuckles, putting one hand back on John's shoulder. The younger looks up with _hope_ burning his eyes.

"Well done, John," Joseph praises him tenderly. "I was starting to think she'd never sell. But you pulled through." He gestures to the loaded trucks. "That's even more food for our people. I'm proud of you."

Rook watches John's whole body relax under his brother's touch, the look of relief on his face. A new smile stretches across his lips, more careful and genuine than before. It looks almost _shy_.

Once Joseph lets his hand slide off John's shoulder this time, taking a few steps back, the people who'd been riding with John finally step closer. They all greet The Father with such warmth it makes Rook's heart clench. And Joseph gives them the same attention as he'd done everyone else back at the church.

John is watching him again; Rook can feel his gaze like a brand. He can't help the cold fear spreading from his gut, wondering what's going through the man's head. He wonders what John and the other siblings think of him, if they understand what happened that night in the church.

Perhaps Joseph notices the tension between them, because he suddenly calls for his brother again.

"Could I have a word with you, in private?" He asks, to which John simply nods. Joseph turns back to Rook, looking even more apologetic than he'd done earlier. "Will you excuse us for just a moment? Won't be long."

"Sure," Rook says, embarrassed by how croaked his voice is.

Joseph gives him a thankful smile, as if Rook is doing him a favor, before heading back up the steps with John in tow.

Rook can't help but feel slightly abandoned, not sure what to do without Joseph around. He stands awkwardly on the stone steps for a moment, eyes carefully drawn to where two of John's men carries one of the big crates off the back of the truck. They're all still talking excitedly among each other, happy about their success.

"Hey." Rook's head snaps up to where a man with a long, impressive beard approaches him. He's got a pumpkin pie in his hands, grin on his face. "You've eaten yet? Dig in."

"Sam!" The woman calls out, suddenly appearing to Rook's left. "Grab some spoons from the kitchen!"

One of the guys— _Sam_ , presumably—runs off while the others gather around Rook and the man holding the pie. They sit down on the steps, Rook following their lead. Mainly because he's not sure what else to do, but also because the pie smells amazing. Sam returns shortly with a handful of spoons, and soon they're all devouring the pie directly from the plate.

It's delicious; Rook hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he starts eating. He feels shy at first, but happy to be included despite not knowing either of the people surrounding him. It feels good. Like they've just accepted him as one of them without needing to prove anything. They're still gushing about having a whole pumpkin farm at their advantage, and all the pies they'll be able to make.

"My daughter loves pumpkins," the man with the beard says, the corners of his lips curled up in a soft smile. "We're gonna keep the seeds, the roots. We'll try plant them in the ground in John's bunker, like they do with the Bliss flowers in Henbane River. If it works, we'll be able to bring pumpkins into the new Eden. Seven years from now, my daughter could be the one planting them."

Rook's chest feels tight, picturing a little girl surviving in a bunker for seven years of her life.

"You're a farmer?" He asks, hesitant to join in on the conversation.

The man nods, smile growing even wider.

"It will be an important profession, when the world starts anew."

"You're new, right?" Another man asks, looking Rook over. "Are you joining?"

Once again Rook opens his mouth without any words coming out, pulse stuttering. The man with the beard comes to his rescue.

"Lay off him, Dave. This shit is hard to swallow. Give the kid some time." He playfully bats at his friend's arm, before turning back to Rook with a soft sigh. "It's alright. It's not easy, accepting the truth. We know."

Rook only manages to nod, swallowing. The man drops his spoon back onto the empty pie plate, before offering his hand.

"I'm Terry."

"Rook." He smiles faintly as he shakes the man's hand. "Thanks."

He's not even sure what he's thanking him for: The pie? The reassurance? But Terry smiles at him nonetheless.

"Welcome, Rook."

 

 

 

The sun is starting to set by the time Joseph re-emerge from the house, alone. Rook is still lounging on the steps with Terry and the woman whose name he hasn't managed to catch yet. The other guys have scattered, the one called Dave climbing up in the watchtower to keep the sniper company. The drop in temperature is more than welcome, the sound of crickets oddly comfortable in the soft breeze.

Joseph smiles when Rook hurries to stand up, a look on his face that Rook isn't sure how to read. Terry and the woman abandon their spots, too, heading back to the two trucks. Joseph puts both hands in his pockets, stopping in front of Rook with a small sigh.

"I'm sorry, Rook, but I have to take my leave. It's getting late, and I have people back at the compound who need me."

Rook nods, not sure if he's feeling disappointed or not. He hadn't planned to stay out here for so long, and while he'd only come here to talk to The Father, the time apart from him doesn't feel like time wasted. He feels lighter than he's done in days, despite all the new impressions and things he'll need to process once he gets back home.

"It's okay," he says. "I'm just... glad I got to talk to you."

Joseph hums, nodding.

"As am I," he says, and Rook believes it. "And we shall speak again, at another time." He looks thoughtful for a moment, studying Rook in that way that's almost gotten familiar by now. "You need time," he concludes. "I understand. I'm not going to push anything on you. But please, come by next Sunday afternoon. We're having one of our big barbeques after the sermon, and you're more than welcome."

Rook nods, trying to remember if he'll be on call or not.

"I will," he still promises.

Joseph smiles. He steps closer, right into Rook's personal space, and puts both hands on Rook's shoulders. He bows his head down, leaning in, and Rook's breath hitches as he lets his eyes fall closed. Their foreheads touch, and it's nothing like he remembers it from the vision. Joseph is solid, hands warm and persistent on his shoulders. It's too much and not enough at the same time.

"Take care, my child," he murmurs, before slowly pulling back. "Now go home and get some proper rest."

Rook blinks his eyes open, heart sinking when Joseph's hands fall from his shoulders. But he nods, giving The Father a small smile, before Joseph turns away.

Terry is already behind the wheel in one of the trucks, and he waves at Rook as Joseph climbs into the passenger seat. They drive off down the gravel road, the woman following in the second truck. And then it's just Rook's old pickup left next to the shiny muscle car. An odd pair.

He remains where he is for a moment, just listening to the sound of car engines fading into the distance.  He looks to his truck, thinks about going home. Thinks about going back to work tomorrow, and possibly lying to Whitehorse's face.

"So," a voice behind him says, and Rook spins around to find John Seed on the porch of the house, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway. He's done up a few more buttons of his shirt, having recovered enough from the scorching heat. His sunglasses are gone, every strand of hair back in place. His blue, piercing eyes are watching Rook closely. "You're the deputy who walked away from arresting The Father."

The way the word 'deputy' falls off his tongue is so familiar it sends a shiver down Rook's spine. He's unsure what to say, what to do. He stays where he is, standing his ground, with his arms slack at his sides.

"Did he tell you?" He can't help but ask.

John doesn't answer right away, just lets his eyes roam for a while more, before pushing off the doorway. He draws closer, arms swinging at his sides in a way that almost seems _too_ casual. Rook's attention is briefly drawn to the way he walks, legs bending in an odd way.

"Yes," he says finally, drawing the word out.

He stops a few feet away from Rook, eyes lingering on him for a moment before looking off into the distance. He purses his lips, tattooed fingers twitching around nothing. Rook recalls them squeezing his wrist.

"Joseph said you won't need any persuasion," John says, in a voice that makes it sound like he's at a bit of a loss.

"I don't," Rook agrees.

He knows what he saw. He knows Joseph is right.

John turns his attention back to him again, eyes searching. Rook tries not to be affected, tries not to let it show how unsettling it is, to be left alone with this man and have him looking at him like that. He reminds himself of what Joseph had told him back at the church.

 _Loved by few. Feared by many. Misunderstood by all_.

"You're gonna join us then?" John asks eventually, tone unreadable. "Help us take the rest of the valley?"

For the third time today, Rook feels a pang of panic at not being able to answer that question. It should be easy. He _wants_ it to be easy. But it's not, because it'd mean going against all the things he just spent years in the academy to learn. He only just started, was ready to count down the days of his 12-month probationary period. He wanted this job, has worked his ass off to get here, and he thought the world was going to last long enough for him to make himself at home in it.

But it's not.

It's going to crash and burn, and people on all sides of the law will die. It won't matter who did what, outside of survival. Everyone will be split up into two categories: The people who lived, and the people who died. Survivors, and victims. And won't matter if the survivors believed Joseph Seed or not; won't matter if they were forced inside the bunkers or went willingly. As long as they were in there, they would've made it.

And Rook thinks of Nick and Kim Rye, expecting their daughter in just a couple weeks. He thinks of Pastor Jerome in his church, only wanting to help his community. He thinks of Mary May still mourning the death of her father, and yet going out of her way to make sure others are safe. He thinks of Eli and his militia up in the mountains, and how all they want is to save people.

They just don't _know_. They don't believe.

He can help. He can save them.

Rook parts his lips, meeting John's intense stare. Unlike Joseph's patience, John's gaze is restless; _eager_. Daring him to speak as much as it's daring him to stay quiet.

"Yes."

It's just one word, barely more than a whisper, and yet it has a big impact on John. Something wicked creeps into his features, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Rook's heart stutters at the dangerous gleam in the man's eyes, but he doesn't feel threatened by it. John looks intrigued, excited; like Rook just _gifted_ him something.

"Well, Deputy," he says, voice smooth. He tilts his head to the side, eyes flickering over Rook's face. For a split second they seems to linger on Rook's lips, and the shock of it makes heat pool in Rook's belly. "You better run along, then. Don't wanna upset your dear sheriff just yet."

Rook manages a nod, heart pounding. John Seed takes two steps backwards, the sly smile still intact on his lips, before turning around to head back inside the house. Rook looks after him for a second or two, before walking down the last bit of steps to get to his truck. He fumbles with the keys before getting the engine started, throwing a last glance towards the house before heading down the road, gravel crackling under the tires.

Last week, when leaving Joseph's church, it'd felt like he walked out on something important. This time, as he exhales deeply and sinks back into the car seat, it feels like he's doing the right thing.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me happy but comments keep me going ♡
> 
> tumblr: [zainclaw](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm so sorry for how long it took me to update. I actually spit out this 10k chapter in two weeks thanks to Camp NaNo though, as well as a Jacob one-shot, and I intend to get the next chapter out before the month is up.
> 
> This chapter is sadly unbeta'd since I'm lacking a beta reader right now. Please let me know if you'd like to help me out! :)
> 
> Shoutout to my old fandom friend [@hales-emissary](http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com/) for gifting me such a beautiful cover for this this fic.

 

III

 

 

Nancy is a sturdy woman, somewhere in her early fifties, with wild black hair. She rarely wears uniform to work, often shows up in knitted sweaters of various colors, and _always_ with a big coffee mug in her hand. Rook hasn't talked to her much, but he likes her. She reminds him of his grandmother, who could be stern at times but always soft around the edges.

He wonders if she knows about him; if she knows why the arrest never happened. How often does she speak to Joseph, or anyone else from the Project? Rook considers asking her, spends a lot of time thinking about all the things he wants to say to her, but never dares to confront her. He tells himself it'd be too risky anyway, that it'd be a terrible idea to talk about anything related to Eden's Gate at the station.

But that Friday afternoon Rook walks into the break room, expecting to find it empty, until spotting Nancy over by the table where the coffee pot is stationed. She's got her usual big ol' mug with her, its print faded to the point where Rook can't even guess what it used to be. Letters, probably, and some kind of flowers. Her sweater is a bright purple today, matching with absolutely nothing on the rest of her outfit, and yet it still suits her somehow.

She offers Rook a kind smile when he enters, helpfully moving to the side as he approaches the coffee table with one of the station's plain cups clutched in his hands. He tries not to feel nervous, eyes on where he's refilling his mug up to the brown line left by the last cup. Somehow he manages not to spill a single drop despite being horribly aware of Nancy still standing to his left, casually sipping her coffee.

He waits, on edge, for her to say something. For her to _acknowledge_ their mutual connection to Joseph Seed, somehow. Only he can't decide if he longs for or dreads it.

Just as he's about to turn around and leave the room, giving her a polite little smile in passing, she finally speaks.

"Do you need a ride to the barbecue this Sunday?"

It's so far from anything he'd expected her to say that he can't help but stagger, mouth opening and closing without words coming out. It's said so casually—as if they're not most gonna get fired if anyone found out just _what_ she's talking about. But she looks unconcerned— _oblivious_ , almost. She raises her eyebrows ever so slightly, smile still on her lips, as if confused why he wouldn't answer such a simple question.

"I— I got a car," Rook ends up saying, because he can't tell if she's offering him something or not.

Nancy shrugs, glancing down briefly to take another sip of her giant mug. It'll need another refill soon, Rook observes.

"I just thought we could ride together, save gas and all that."

Rook parts his lips again, glancing towards the open doorway. He can hear Whitehorse's booming voice from the other room, seemingly engaged in a joyful conversation with a small group of people. Rook looks back to Nancy, seeing a glint of something in her eyes. _Hope_.

"Do… _you_ need a ride?" He asks, realizing.

He can tell she tries to not let her relief show, but it still does. Her whole face softens, smile stretching.

"I'd appreciate that," she murmurs. "I'm not sure Bill would let me borrow the car this weekend."

Rook hesitates.

"Your husband's not coming?"

"Oh," Nancy says, waving her hand in an attempt to brush it off. "Not really his kind of thing, these barbecues."

Rook opens his mouth, trying to come up with something to say to that, but a voice from the doorway interrupts him.

"Did someone say barbecue?"

Pratt is suddenly there, cocking an eyebrow at them as he crosses the room with an empty cup of his own. Rook's heart starts beating all too fast, but Nancy remains cool as cucumber.

"Yeah," she smiles, not missing a beat. "Turns out me and Rook have a mutual friend."

"Really?" Pratt huffs as he steps up to the table for a refill, giving Rook an amused glance over his shoulder while pouring coffee. "Making friends quickly, huh, Greenie?"

"Quicker than you," Rook answers mechanically, starting to get familiar with Pratt's teasing by now.

Pratt laughs, turning back to them with the full cup in one hand. His free hand lands on Rook's shoulder, giving it a clap before simply resting there. Rook is just a little startled by it, not used to Pratt acting quite so friendly with him.

"This guy," Pratt says to Nancy, to which she scoffs. Pratt's hand slides off Rook's shoulder. "So," he prompts, free hand on his hip as he brings the mug to his lips for a sip. "Where's the party?"

Rook barely has the time to freak out before Nancy responds.

"Closed invite, I'm afraid. Local family man. You know the type."

Pratt makes a displeased noise before he swallows, dark eyebrows drawn together.

"Shame," he says, sounding like he means it. He glances up at the clock on the wall, backing out of the little circle they've created. "Well, next time, I guess." He reaches out to slap Rook on the shoulder with a playful smirk before turning to leave. "Glad you're making friends, Rook."

Rook looks after him, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. He remembers Pratt from his dreams, how he'd been preaching Joseph's words when Rook found him in Jacob's bunker. Whatever he went through during all those weeks at Jacob's side, it had made him a believer in the end. He'd believed the Collapse was coming, believed that Jacob had made him stronger.

_The weak. The world is full of them. They're going to cull the weak._

The contrast is too great. It's like they're two different people—the Pratt before and after meeting the Seeds.

When Rook finally looks back to Nancy, she's watching him with an expression he finds difficult to read. Her mug is empty now, and she turns to reach for the coffee pot yet again.

"Pick me up outside the station at ten?" She asks, with the same level of calm she's maintained since Rook entered the room. She's not even looking at him, focusing on filling her mug to the brim. "I don't want to miss anything."

 _The sermon_ , Rook thinks to himself. _She doesn't want to miss the sermon_.

"Sure," he agrees, voice a little strained.

Nancy offers him a bright smile when she turns back, coffee pot emptied.

"Thank you," she says, her hand touching him briefly as she strides past him. "See you then."

 

 

 

Since Rook made it back from the valley last week, time seems to have slowed down. Perhaps it's the constant anxiety of being found out, feeling like an intruder wearing a badge and uniform he doesn't deserve. He struggles to relax, aware of every second that ticks by on the clock.

But despite that—despite feeling less like he belongs with his colleagues at the station after getting more involved with Eden's Gate—he feels much better after talking to Joseph. He sleeps better, some nights completely free of visions. He doesn't feel _alone_ the way he did before, and he can't help but long for The Father's reassuring words and calming presence.

He longs for Sunday.

When it finally rolls around, Rook makes sure not to be late for picking up Nancy. He ponders about her husband, if Eden's Gate is either a secret or simply not something he approves of. He wonders if she asked him to pick her up at the station because it'd spare her giving him her address, or if maybe she doesn't want her husband to see her getting picked up.

She's standing on the edge of the parking lot when he gets there, waving to make sure she caught his attention before she running over there once the pickup comes to a stop. There's something very different about her, and it takes a moment before Rook realizes why; she's not wearing one of her usual knitted sweaters, but a white dress reaching down to her calves. There's a _brightness_ to her that he can't recall ever seeing before, greeting him with a soft smile and eyes that seem to sparkle with excitement.

"Ready?"

Is he? He thinks about John, the look on his face when Rook had told him yes. He thinks—for probably the hundredth time this week—about all the things he wants to say to Joseph, once he gets a moment alone with him again.

"Yeah," he answers regardless, heading for the main road.

The drive is nice, far from the uncomfortable silence Rook had been dreading. Nancy has always been a big talker back at the station, so maybe he'd been foolish to expect anything else even in this setting. He expects her to talk about the elephant in the room, at least, but she doesn't. She doesn't say a word about Eden's Gate, or Joseph, or how the hell she's dealing with being such close friends with Whitehorse while keeping this a secret. She doesn't talk about her absent husband. Instead she talks about the flowers in her garden, and the apple tree that's starting to get old. She fears Bill will have to cut it down, leaving an ugly stump.

Rook doesn't sit quiet, though he's glad Nancy seems content on talking about her own personal life rather than asking about his. It's a little weird, considering they don't really know each other, but surprisingly nice. Rook hasn't talked about gardening in years, having done some of it with his mom and sister as a kid. He tells Nancy as much, though regrets it immediately when her face lights up with curiosity.

"Really? But not anymore, then? How come?"

"They don't live close," Rook replies with a small shrug, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"Ah." Nancy nods. He can tell she's ready to move on from it, and he's relieved. "Pity."

 _Not really_ , Rook wants to say, but hums in agreement.

There's plenty of cars parked outside Joseph's compound, more than just the white trucks with the Eden's Gate cross painted on them. The grass plain where children had played is empty now, the big drying racks with bouquets of flowers left unattended. Everyone is heading for the church, kids holding their parent's hand as they walk up the path. There's more people today than any of the other times Rook has been here.

People wave at Nancy, calling her by name, and Rook half expects her to disappear in the crowd. He wouldn't blame her if she did, but feels relieved when she simply waves back and stays at his side. He'd probably feel slightly abandoned if she was to ditch him like that.

Joseph is waiting for them inside the church, standing in front of the altar with a soft smile on his face. He watches families and lonesome people fill up the benches, hands comfortably crossed while holding a white bible to his chest. It's got the Eden's Gate cross on it. Rook had seen more books like that lying around the ranch last week, and finds himself wondering what words they contain. Joseph's eyes find his, and Rook feels an inner calm settle from The Father's small smile and nod.

It gets crowded in the small church—so much so that Rook gives up his seat to an older woman without company. Nancy gives him a kind look as he moves to stand against the wall in the back, along with some others left without a seat. He doesn't mind stretching his legs after sitting in the car for so long, and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans to get comfortable.

"Welcome," Joseph greets them once everyone has settled down, his clear voice echoing slightly between the naked walls. "I'm always glad to see a full church, though I apologize for the lack of seating. We're looking to expand."

There's a different feel to it today, compared to the sermon Rook had crashed last week. There's a certain _skeptical_ vibe from the crowd, urging on the tone of Joseph's voice as he goes on. Like he's trying to convince them, unlike last time when he'd spoken like he was among friends. Rook realizes that a lot of the people in the church must be outsiders, newcomers. People who don't consider themselves followers.

When Joseph prompts them to sing a hymn, only half of the crowd seems to know the lyrics. It's the same one Rook had heard last time, but he still doesn't know the words well enough to do anything but mumble under his breath. He doubts anyone expects him to sing along as well as Nancy and the others, but he still wants to.

_The rich will get what they want  
The poor will lose what they need_

_The Devil knows our fears  
He told all his friends_

_They block the sun with their lies  
Darkness descends_

"Know that you are not alone," Joseph tells them after the song dies out, voice gentle but powerful in the sudden silence. "Know that you are loved. We are a family of refugees, cast from the world, bruised by rejection. Each of us has yearned for fellowship only to be deafened by hateful words, or struck by the blows of contemptuous fists. Each of us have carried labels designed to minimize, marginalize, dehumanize, or separate us."

Rook swallows around the lump in his throat, heart clenching when recalling some of the many labels others have forced on him. Or ones he claimed for himself that others refused to acknowledge, to accept. He loses himself in his thoughts for a bit, heart beating faster in rhythm to Joseph's voice that grows stronger, _angrier_ , as he speaks of the world's injustice.

"How is it that one child wants for nothing, while the child next door goes to bed hungry? How is it that the fat politician in his gilded office can dictate to the starving farmer what he can and cannot sell? Who is to blame? The privileged, the wealthy, the elite. They mock us, sneer at us. Push us to the gutter and expect us to bow to them, praise them, _elect_ them."

A surge of mumbled agreement travels through the crowd, people nodding their heads in shared frustration. The big man next to Rook clenches a fist at his side, his strong jaw set. Joseph pauses, nodding as he lets the anger roll off them all together. When he speaks again, his tone is soft.

"I do not come from privilege, I do not come from wealth. I come from poverty, I come from despair. I come from a world that is ignored. Our family does not care what you are wearing. We only care that you are _clothed_. Our family does not care where or what you eat. We only care that you are _fed_. Our family knows the truth. The truth that you are all special. You are all engaging. You are all fantastic. And capable. And _wonderful_."

Someone on the front row cries softly, while others simply sniffle as they nod along. Joseph looks to the woman crying, and Rook can see the warmth in his gaze as it lingers on her, before letting it sweep over the entire room.

"But my children," he assures them, raising his hands ever so slightly towards them. Rook remembers the steady weight of them on his shoulders. "God sees us. God hears us. Humanity has reached a threshold, and it must change. Or perish."

Several people voice their agreement out loud, some raising their hands above their heads as the word _yes_ erupts from every corner of the church. Rook can feel it—the shift in the air. When the skeptic becomes a believer. He wonders if Joseph can feel it too, looking up to him over on the stage, only to find him looking right back. As if Joseph had wanted someone to share this moment with, and found him.

 

 

 

After, when the sermon is over and Joseph has invited everyone to the ranch for the big barbecue, the crowd slowly fills out of the church. One of Joseph's men takes the lead as he heads for the cars, telling everyone to follow him if they don't know the way. Joseph lingers, just like last time, despite him gently trying assuring the people coming up to him that they'll have plenty of time talk at the ranch. He doesn't turn them away.

Rook feels torn, but Nancy hooks their arms together and urges him to move along with the crowd.

"You can talk to him later," she tells him.

He believes it, but still hesitates for moment before letting Nancy lead them back to the car.

Down by the gates things are a bit chaotic. Some people were simply dropped off for the sermon, and everyone is chiming in to make sure they get those to the ranch who want to. Kids happily climb onto the truck beds of some of the Project's white pickups, parents sternly telling them to stay seated and hold on. A young mother with her son in hand asks Rook if they can ride with them, and Rook doesn't hesitate to agree.

They drive in a long line, eight cars driving up the dirt road back onto the main road, heading for Holland Valley. Rook's truck is more towards the back of the caravan, so when people in the white pickup in the front calls out something, Rook doesn't catch it. The people on the back of the truck in front of him seem equally confused. But then the faint sound of music is heard from somewhere up front, as if someone turned up their speakers to the max. People start to sing along, more cars after the first one joining in.

"The radio," Nancy realizes, reaching for the dashboard to turn it on. "The radio station."

Soon the very same song starts flowing out of Rook's own speakers, and the ones driving behind him soon follows. People are singing from the top of their lungs, big grin on their faces. Nancy joins in, as do the children on the truck bed in front of them. One little girl gets so into it she tries to stand up and dance, but her older brother reminds her to stay down.

_Come elders and come children  
Come wisdom and come fire_

_You've gotta see how strong you'd be when you're free of all desire  
A countryman of promise but you cannot trust the liar_

It's an easy enough melody, but Rook still doesn't know the words. He can't help but nod his head along to the catchy tune though, feeling himself grin when looking over to see the big smile on Nancy's face. His heart aches for her suddenly—for the stark contrast of seeing her right now, and every day at the station. The difference is staggering.

_Oh John  
Bold and brave_

_He's finding us a family  
He's teaching us to fend_

_Oh John  
Keep us safe_

_He's gonna march us straight through Eden's Gate_

Rook's heart flutters, watching the singing kids in front of him. He glances up in the review mirror, seeing the woman and child on the back of his own truck. The soft smile on her face is shy, but it's real. The boy in her arms is happily rambling along to the song the people around him is singing,  making up words as he goes.

A laugh spills from Rook's mouth before he can stop it, suddenly overwhelmed by all the happiness and _faith_ surrounding him. He catches Nancy studying him briefly in the corner of his eye, but she doesn't say anything.

At the ranch, several people of Eden's Gate are already there waiting for them. One guy directs their little convoy towards the landing slide where several cars are already parked. Rook helps the mother and boy climb out of the truck, accepting their humble thanks with a light flush on his face. The air smells of barbecue, smoke rising from somewhere behind the big house. Children are running all over the grounds, a small group of adults standing on the front steps to welcome the new arrivals. They kindly direct them to the back of the house for refreshments.

Nancy lingers by Rook's side for a bit as they follow the crowd around back, but when yet another woman calls her over with a wave and big smile, Rook gently nudges her with an elbow.

"Go on," he huffs. "I'll catch up with you later."

She gives him a thankful smile, squeezing his arm once before heading over to greet her friend.

In the backyard the barbecue is in full swing. Music is playing from an old stereo on the back porch, some old rock song Rook hasn't heard in years. There's a big fire pit built on the short grass, pieces of meat lined up on the grill rack balancing just out of reach from the flames. The table nearby offers several plates of other food and drinks, a basket with fluffy cornbread. A handful of people are sitting in garden chairs spread around the lawn, eagerly watching the man tending the grill, but happily gets up to greet Rook and the others.

A bark from the other side of the yard makes Rook's head snap up, heart skipping a beat because it sounds so familiar. He knows, even before turning his head to see the dog coming running towards the newcomers to say hello, that it's Boomer. And just seeing the dog in the flesh, exactly how he's seen him so many times in his visions, makes Rook's heart lurch in his chest. It feels like _proof_ more than anything else, that he's not crazy. That he didn't just make this dog and the people from his vision up.

Rook sinks to his knees in the grass before he's barely aware of doing it, and it earns Boomer's attention. Tail wagging, he heads straight for Rook and head butts him eagerly. Rook chuckles, somewhat hysterically, while dragging his hands through the black and gray fur.

"Hey, boy," he murmurs softly, scratching Boomer behind the ears. "It's good to see you."

His chest feels tight, realizing that the dog doesn't know him—that he sees him as a total stranger. It probably shouldn't make him feel so emotional, but it does. He swallows around the lump in his throat and stands up, letting the others have their turn. Some of the small kids are too scared to pet him, clinging to their parents' legs, but most seem happy to do it. A few even seem to recognize him, being long-time residents of the valley, and Rook tries not to feel jealous.

Once Boomer understands the greeting is over, he turns to trot back to where he'd came from. Rook's gaze follows him, until spotting the man in the corner of the yard, leaning against a log pile with a beer bottle in hand. Boomer runs up to bump his nose against the man's leg before settling down at his feet, happily chewing away on a meaty bone. The man looks down at the dog, seeming amused, before lifting his chin to take a swig of his beer. His eyes lock with Rook's.

Jacob Seed.

Rook can't stop the _fear_ rolling through his system like a cold wave. For a second or two he almost sees red, a blurriness to his vision. The song is suddenly stuck in his head, and he tenses up. He waits for something to happen, to collapse to the ground or reach for a makeshift weapon, but there's nothing. There's just him and an old song lingering in his memory.

"Hey, Rook!"

Someone's hand touches his shoulder, and he spins around to find Terry—the man he'd met last time he was here—with a little girl at his side. His daughter, Rook realizes. Her braided hair is the same color as her dad's beard, and she's wearing a colorful flower crown.

"Terry," he says, smiling. It's nice to recognize someone. It makes him feel less out of place.

"Glad to see you here," Terry grins, clapping Rook's shoulder in a friendly manner. "This is my daughter, Alicia."

The girl looks up at him with big, brown eyes while fumbling with one of her braids.

"Hello."

Rook hasn't much experience with kids, feeling somewhat awkward, but he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Hi, Alicia. That's a nice flower crown you got. Did you make it yourself?"

"No, sister Faith made it for me," she replies, some of her shyness fading away as she reaches up to carefully touch the flowers.

"Ah," Rook says, making sure to sound impresses. "Is Faith here?"

Alicia nods, and her dad hums in agreement.

"She wouldn't miss it," Terry assures him. "She's around here somewhere, as is John. We've been waiting for you all to arrive."

Rook nods, unable to stop his heart from stuttering slightly at the mention of John. Not because he's surprised that he's there—it's his home after all—but because he's reminded of their last encounter.

One of the men who'd been leading the caravan encourages the guests to help themselves with food and drink, and soon everyone is flocking around the grilled meat. The kids are impatient and gets to go first, and Rook doesn't mind. His attention keeps being drawn back to Boomer hanging out with Jacob in the shade, and eventually he gathers up the courage to head over there.

"Not hungry?" Is the first thing Jacob asks once they're close enough, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 _Aw, you must be huuuungry_.

Rook shrugs, trying to shake off the memory and ignore the shiver running down his spine. He stops to crouch down.

"Wanted to say hi to Boomer, again," he admits sheepishly.

Boomer abandons his bone as soon as Rook lowers himself to his level, dogging over to let himself be petted again. Jacob makes an amused noise in the back of his throat, holding the almost empty bottle lazily in his hand. He just watches them for a while, Rook smiling at Boomer's dog kisses.

"Got him just the other day," Jacob mumbles after a moment, breaking the silence. "Came in a big cage. Like some caught wolf."

Rook's heart sinks, looking up to meet Jacob's gaze.

"Are you gonna do to him what you do to the judges?"

Jacob's eyes don't widen in surprise, nor narrow in suspicion. He only blinks, once, and barely misses a beat before answering.

"No. It'd be a shame, to ruin a dog like this." Jacob looks down at Boomer's wagging tail. "He's perfect," he concludes with a simple nod.

Rook feels relieved and oddly proud, despite him having nothing to do with what a good dog Boomer is. His heart stings again, thinking about how they're not even real friends yet. As happy as Boomer is to get attention from him, it's still a first meeting on the dog's end. Despite only having been with Jacob for a little while, he still seems to feel more loyalty towards him than anyone else around right now.

"John said you'd always wanted a dog," Rook finds himself saying, eyes on where he's scratching Boomer.

He's not prepared for Jacob Seed to scoff, teeth flashing.

"Did he now," he murmurs, something private in his tone that Rook doesn't dare to name.

He doesn't say more than that, and Rook doesn't push for a longer conversation. He gives Boomer a final pat before standing back up, awkwardly meeting Jacob's eyes before turning away. The kids have gotten food on their plates and moved to sit down somewhere in the yard to eat while the adults have their turn.

"I'd stay away from the mac 'n' cheese," Jacob says behind him.

Soon people are scattered all over the garden with paper plates and cups, taking up every solid surface to sit on. Garden chairs, stumps, log piles, the porch steps, boulders. Some kids are even trying to sit on the wooden fence, balancing their plates on their skinny legs. Everyone's chatting away, almost drowning out the music still coming from the old stereo. Rook sits with Terry and his daughter, spotting Nancy with her lady friend on the other side of the yard. The meat is delicious, and few things beats a cold beer in this heat.

He doesn't try the mac 'n' cheese. It looks awfully soggy.

More people keep arriving, the ones who'd stayed behind after the sermon, and finally Joseph is there. He doesn't make a grand entrance, doesn't want them to get up from their seat to greet him. He's just suddenly there, walking among them. Rook watches people shake his hand and be embraced, before eventually catching The Father's attention for himself. Joseph approaches him with a small smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder once he's close enough. Rook can't help but exhale at the contact, shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"I'm glad you made it," Joseph tells him. It sounds like he means it, and it makes Rook feel good.

"I came with Nancy," Rook says, smiling effortlessly back at him.

Joseph's smile grows, showing the hint of teeth. His hand kneads Rook's shoulder before letting it fall away.

"That's good, Rook," he says softly. "I'm glad you two can rely on each other now. It's been hard on her, staying with her job at the Sheriff station. But she helps us out a lot by remaining there."

The 'as could you' is left unsaid, but Rook still picks up on it. He swallows, heart clenching in his chest as he parts his lips.

"Joseph—"

But Joseph holds up a hand, shaking his head calmly to silence him.

"I know," he simply says, as if he knows exactly what's going through Rook's head. "We'll talk later. It's okay. Just enjoy yourself for now."

Rook closes his mouth again, nodding. He's relieved, not ready to have that conversation yet, but also anxious about having to put it off.

Faith finally shows up, wearing a yellow dress and a flower crown identical to Alicia's. Kids flock around her, wanting to hold her hand. She looks happy to do it, walking barefoot in the grass while saying hi to some of the grownups greeting her. Rook knows they're about the same age, but right now she looks incredibly young. He wants to talk to her, recalling her invitation from last week, but doesn't want to disturb her and the kids.

He mingles for a bit, talking to the people from the sermon. For some it had been their first, others having returned for a second or third time. He listens to them talk about how they came to believe Joseph's words, how some of them are still not entirely sure. It's fascinating, and Rook can't help but wonder if he ever would've been convinced by Joseph's preaching alone, without a vision to help him along. He can see the fear in these people's eyes when talking about the Collapse, despite not having seen it.

He talks to the people of Eden's Gate, many of them blending in with the guest without the cross on their clothes. One man drapes his arm across Rook's shoulder and turns him to look north, pointing at the big, white letters up on the hilltop. He tells Rook he was part of the team handpicked by John to build the giant 'YES' sign a few weeks back, beaming with pride as he does.

Rook talks some more with Terry, watching Alicia and two other kids feed Boomer their leftovers. The dog has abandoned his spot by Jacob's feet, now happily walking around the backyard to receive food or attention from the guests. Jacob, on the other hand, stays in his corner. A few of the project's followers walk over there to have a chat with him every now and then, but for the most part he's alone.

Faith appears at one point, trying to reach up and put a flower crown on his head, but Jacob absolutely refuses. She gives up with a small pout, batting his arm before giving the crown to someone else in passing as she leaves him be. It's a somewhat surreal exchange.

"Where's her mom?" Rook eventually dares to ask, watching Alicia giggle as Boomer licks marinade off her fingers.

Terry sighs softly, leaning a bit heavier back against the wooden fence where he and Rook are standing.

"Back home. She—" He scoffs, but it sounds hollow. "She doesn't come to these things."

Rook had been expecting the very worst, and is surprised by the answer. And confused.

"Why not?"

Terry shakes his head, still watching Alicia.

"She doesn't believe in any of this, Rook," he admits. "She doesn't believe Joseph, that he knows what'll happen." He sighs again, shoulders sagging. Then he looks at Rook, their eyes locking, and Rook can see the pain there. His heart clenches at the raw intensity of it. "What we'll have to do— What we _need_ to do to make sure we and our daughter survive— She wants no part of it. Of _this_ ," he clarifies, gesturing towards the garden party going on around them.

Rook swallows, mind racing. Somehow he never considered a family of Eden's Gate being split like this, though he probably should have. Different beliefs are more than capable of tearing a family apart. He knows that.

"What are you gonna do?" He asks quietly.

Terry doesn’t answer right away, fumbling with the empty cup in his hand as he studies the ground by his feet.

"She lets me be for now, lets me take Alicia to these things, to church. But when it happens— She needs to be in that bunker with us. I don't wanna have to leave her, or Alicia to grow up without a mom. There's—" He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. "There's the Bliss. I— I don't want to. But she'd be saved. And maybe she'll understand, when it wears off and we're already down there. She— Maybe she'll thank me."

Rook doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he says after a too-long pause. He feels horrible for the man. "I don't—"

"Nah," Terry says, shaking his head while smiling sadly. "I'm sorry, for springing this on you like that. You probably have enough to deal with on your own." He pauses, and Rook watches the pain drain from his face, replaced by a determination. "It's not easy for any of us, Rook. But when it comes to life and death, I guess it shouldn't be."

Rook swallows, nodding solemnly.

Terry claps his shoulder in goodbye before pushing off the fence to walk over to Alicia and Boomer. Rook follows him with his gaze, until something yellow in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Faith is standing a few feet away, hands clasped behind her back. She's watching him with a soft smile, and it grows bigger once their eyes lock. When Rook smiles back at her, she comes over.

"Do you want one?" She asks hopefully, revealing the flower crown she'd been hiding behind her back.

Rook parts his lips, but hesitates.

There's a voice in the back of his head, cruel and degrading, telling him _no_. Telling him that he shouldn't like pretty things like flower crowns. That it's not for boys, and definitely not for him. It's a voice he's been fighting against for years, trying so hard to erase from his memory, but it's not that easy. Even after not speaking to the man the voice belongs to for so long, he just can't forget.

"Yeah," he says eventually, smile just a little strained as he nods. "Sure. Why not."

He leans down slightly as she reaches up to put it on his head, his buzzed hair doing little to keep the leaves from tickling his scalp. Straightening back up, his heart skips an anxious beat as he meets Faith's eyes again. He's not sure why—it's not like he expects her to mock him, but the fear of rejection is still there, so deeply engraved in him. But Faith just gives him a blinding smile, clasping her hands together under her chin to make a little noise of pure glee.

"You look beautiful!"

Rook scoffs, ducking his head down as he feels himself blush.

"Thanks."

She chuckles kindly, giving him a moment.

"I'm glad you came back," she says then, smiling softly. "We all are."

Rook automatically looks over to where Joseph is shaking an old man's hand, both men smiling warmly at each other. He looks back to Faith.

"How much did he tell you?"

"No details," she assures him, voice soft. "But… enough."

Rook swallows, suddenly feeling guilty all over again. He thinks of her reaching out for him, bleeding, and him stepping back.

"You tried so hard to tell me," he says quietly, "to make me understand. More than anyone."

Faith tilts her head, fascination and curiosity coloring her face. She looks taken aback for a moment, before smiling sadly.

"I would. Because I've been where you are, Rook. I've been the outsider, the non-believer. I know the doubts. I want everyone to be saved like I was. Especially you," she adds, though looking hesitant to. "If God really gave you that revelation… It makes you special, just like Joseph. And you belong here with us."

"I'm not like Joseph," Rook protests, shaking his head and feeling the flower crown move.

The thought scares him, of people _expecting_ things from him like they do with The Father.

"No," Faith agrees. "You're not the same. Just… Both chosen."

"I still don't understand," Rook admits in a small voice, heartbeat picking up. "Why would God choose someone like me, for anything?"

Faith studies him with a thoughtful expression, smile still lingering on her lips.

"Why did He choose Joseph?" She reminds him. "Because he needed it? Because God knew he would listen, and understand?" She looks down, taking a step closer. Carefully, she reaches out to hold Rook's left wrist. First then does Rook realize what she's looking at—the old scar on the underside of his arm, a vertical line from his wrist. Instinctively he pulls out of her grip, and she lets him. "Perhaps God knew you'd understand, too."

Shame flares up in Rook's stomach, burning hot. He doesn't cover up the scar like he used to, because over the years it's faded and gets unnoticed most of the time. But under Faith's observing gaze, he feels the need to hide it. He tugs at the sleeve of his button up.

"It's okay," Faith tells him softly, shaking her head as she reaches out again to still his hands. "It's okay, Rook. Look—"

She holds out her own arm, and Rook first then notices the tattoo there. It's odd—a combination of letters and numbers. It looks like something out of his chemistry book back in school. A formula, he realizes. Faith points with her opposite hand, tracing the ink with a finger.

"See?"

It takes him a second or two, but then Rook _does_ see. Punctures in the skin, scars left by a needle. Most of them are effectively hidden inside the tattoo, only visible when looking closely enough.

"Oh," he says quietly.

Faith drops her arm back to her side, smiling sadly.

"I used to be ashamed of them. I used to hide them. But truth is they're proof of me surviving something I never thought I would." She turns her head to look towards a small group of people standing closer to the house. "It was John who showed me how to turn them into something else. Something meaningful. Beautiful."

He follows her gaze, surprised to find John mingling with the crowd. Rook has kept an eye out for him ever since he got here, but he must've missed him. John is in a gray vest coat and dress shirt, sleeves tucked. Rook takes in the various tattoos covering the man's forearms and hands, one of them casually slipped into the pocket of his trousers while the other holds a beer.

When John laughs at something a guest said, Rook's attention is drawn to his smile. It's charming, showing just enough teeth. Perfectly crafted. Nothing like the one Rook had received when they last met.

Rook hastily turns his attention back to Faith, finding her watching him with an amused smile. His heart jolts in fear, but she doesn't say anything.

"I still want you to visit me," she says instead, sounding eager. "We'll walk the Pilgrimage. I want to show you the Henbane, it's beautiful."

Rook nods, feeling himself smile faintly at her excitement. He wouldn't mind spending more time with Faith, curious to get to know her better. They seem to have a lot in common already, and her presence is… calming. Not the way Joseph's is, but not entirely different either. There's a softness to both of them, a kindness, that Rook feels like he's been missing for a long time.

"I'd like that," he says honestly.

Faith grins, and it's so contagious Rook can't help but scoff and let his own smile grow to match.

 

 

 

Later, when the sun has lost some of its altitude on the blue sky, and most of the food has been eaten, the families start to leave one by one. Some of the Project's people offer to drive home those without a car, though some who live nearby prefer to walk. Rook waves goodbye to the mother and son who'd been riding with him earlier, noting how most of the woman's shyness seems to have disappeared over the last few hours.

When spotting Nancy heading straight for him, Rook expects her to ask to be driven home, but she shakes her head if she'd been reading his mind.

"I know you want to stay," she tells him. "Don't worry. My friend is taking me home. You go ahead and stay as long as you want, kiddo."

"Thank you," Rook tells her seriously.

She smiles reassuringly, then seems to hesitate before saying:

"I'll see you tomorrow, Rook."

He looks after her, watching her lady friend take her by the hand as they head for the parked cars.

Joseph is saying goodbye to the leaving guests, proudly wearing one of Faith's flower crowns. Rook still longs to talk to him, but waits for his turn. The last things he wants is to come across like an impatient child, demanding Joseph's attention when he's not supposed to. So he says goodbye to Terry and his daughter, waving back to Alicia as they drive down the gravel road, before heading back to the garden.

With just a few of the guests left, Rook soon finds himself sitting in one of the wooden chairs next to Jacob. Boomer is by his feet, lying next to his unequipped flower crown, head held high. Some kids are running nearby, daringly sprinting past the dog every now and then while screaming in glee and fear. Boomer doesn't leave his spot, but looks happy to be included in their game.

"He likes you," Jacob comments after a long silence, eyes on Boomer.

The man had gradually left his corner and joined the rest of the party, even talking to some of the guests. The kids stayed clear of him, unlike Faith, but Rook has a feeling Jacob prefers it that way. As the memories from Rook's dreams faded, they got replaced by more vivid ones of Jacob Seed eating cornbread and grilled vegetables with a cute dog constantly running up to bump its head against his knee. Little by little, he became less intimidating.

Seeing him stubbornly dodge Faith's flower crown had definitely played a part, too.

"Probably because I act like I know him," Rook answers, looking down at the dog at his feet. He smiles, warm affection spreading from the center of his chest when seeing that one of Boomer's front paws is resting on top of his foot.

Jacob studies him for a moment, tilting his head to the side. He's got a new beer in hand, two empty bottles in the grass next to his chair.

"Don't you?"

Rook blinks, and Jacob meets his eyes steadily. He looks genuinely curious, but also skeptical. The question feels like a challenge, and Rook opens his mouth to hesitate before answering.

"I'm not sure it counts. It's not— It wasn't _real_. It just… could've been."

He looks back down on Boomer again, reaching out to pet him. Jacob hums quietly, watching the two of them for a moment's silence—long enough for Rook to assume Jacob had dropped the subject, when suddenly asking:

"What about me?" Their eyes meet again, Jacob's harboring the same curiosity and challenge like before. "You know him," he gestures to Boomer. "So what do you know about me?"

Rook's heart skips a beat, recalling the parts of his vision that are colored with blood. Red always framing his vision, nothing seeming to make sense. It's like trying to remember a fucked up nightmare. Cracked walls, objects floating in the air, people disappearing in a puff of smoke. He remembers Jacob's voice more than anything, always there. When nothing else had made sense, Jacob's voice did.

"You told me about Miller," he eventually says, heart stuttering.

Jacob's eyes widen for a split second, doubt replaced with shock. He averts his gaze, looking off into the distance.

"Shit," he murmurs, almost to himself. Rook doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet. "Well," Jacob says after a moment, still looking away. Rook can see his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows. "You're not running, so."

His voice is flat, carefully stripped of emotion.

"I understand," Rook says, barely more than a whisper. As horrifying as it is—how immoral, inhumane—he does understand. "Why you had to— You did what you had to do, to survive. I'm not— I'm not gonna pretend I know what it's like, being in that position."

"No one can," Jacob practically snaps, his voice deeper now. He breathes heavily, nostrils flaring. "It's unimaginable."

Rook just nods, looking down and focuses on petting Boomer. He feels bad about bringing it up, about making Jacob feel whatever it is he's feeling right now. He seems… ashamed, almost.

The last two kids are called over by their parents, the family waving goodbye to Faith as they 'round the house to go find their car. Faith and two others are clearing the table, collecting plates and empty glass bottles. Rook stands from his chair, careful not to step on Boomer. If Jacob doesn't want his company, he'd rather make himself useful.

He's barely taken two steps before there's a familiar voice behind him.

"Hey."

 _Hey, only you could've gotten this close_.

Rook stops, turning back to find Jacob fumbling with his hands. His eyes are on the ground before finally finding Rook's, the tip of his ears looking redder than before.

"Thanks," he says quietly. Despite the awkwardness, it sounds genuine. "And, um—" He nods at Boomer. "I'll take care of him, you know?"

Feeling a smile stretch across his lips, Rook nods. He sees the corner of Jacob's mouth twitch just as he turns away again, feeling good about it.

His help is welcomed, Faith handing him a tray and asking him to bring in the dirty dishes into the kitchen. But not before taking the pan of mac 'n' cheese left mostly untouched to dump the leftovers into a trash bin. To Rook's confused look she simply shrugs and mumbles something about it being out in the sun for too long anyway.

It's cool inside the house, his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the low light when he steps through the door. He's never explored the house, hasn't seen more than the living room, so he has no idea where the kitchen is. After standing there feeling lost for a second, Rook walks across the room to try the big double doors under the balcony. He struggles with the tray, having to put it down on the nearby table to pull the door open.

Peeking inside, he knows he's definitely not found the kitchen.

It looks like an office, tall bookshelves covering the entire back wall with a big desk in the center of the room facing the doors. Most of the shelves are holding books, while the rest harbors dozens of small model airplanes. Bigger ones hang from the ceiling, as well as filling another table. They're in various different colors and types, Rook's eyes immediately drawn to a yellow one that looks vaguely familiar. He's never seen such a big collection of _anything_.

"Are you lost, Deputy?"

The voice behind him makes Rook jolt in surprise, spinning around to find John Seed. They're close—John not stepping back to give them both some personal space after Rook turns around. Rook's heart skips a small beat at having those blue eyes trained on him, moving between his own due to the lack of distance. He can see the sweat beading on John's temples.

"I was looking for the kitchen," Rook explains.

John tilts his head, mouth twitching. Rook can't tell if he's annoyed or amused.

"Does this look like the kitchen?"

"No," Rook says dumbly. "Sorry."

He steps to the side, wanting to escape the close proximity, and closes the door behind him. John lets him, watching him pick the tray back up.

"Come on," he says then, voice quiet. "I'll show you."

Surprised, Rook happily follows.

John leads him to another part of the house, the two of them walking side by side in silence. John is taller than him, even if it's just a few inches. His beard has been trimmed since Rook saw him last, jaw line more visible. Rook catches him glancing down at the empty pan that had been the mac 'n' cheese with what looks like a pleased expression, and Rook gets the feeling he shouldn't tell where most of it had gone.

Arriving at the kitchen, Rook barely gets through the door before someone takes the tray off his hands and thanking him. It's a bit crowded, so he quickly leaves again not to be in the way. John is still by his side, starting to walk in the direction they'd come from, and Rook idly follows.

"So," John says, dragging out the word. "You're still here."

"I'm waiting to talk to Joseph," Rook admits somewhat sheepishly.

John just hums, a dull noise that Rook doesn't know how to read.

They return to the living room, John slowing to a stop and Rook follows his example. Without meaning to, his eyes are drawn to the big painting of Joseph hanging over the fireplace.

"Tell me something." Rook looks back to John who's standing with his arms crossed. Once again Rook's attention is drawn to the multiple tattoos. "Would all deputies be so quick to follow the man they were meant to arrest after seeing what you saw, or is it just you?"

Guilt tugs at Rook's heart, but he tries not to let it get to him.

"I don't know. I can only speak for myself," he states quietly.

John tilts his head to the side, some strands of hair falling out of formation. That wicked gleam in his eyes is back.

"And?"

"And," Rook starts, swallowing. "I guess I was… more receptive than most others would've been in that situation."

John hums thoughtfully, seeming pleased by the answer. He draws closer, eyes never leaving Rook's. The tension between them feels familiar, Rook having felt it in his dreams as well as every time he's been left alone with John since. He meets John's gaze as bravely as he can, lifting his chin ever so slightly when John stops right in front of him.

A memory flashes before his eyes, being tied to a chair with John looming over him with the same look of intrigue in his eyes. Rook's breath catches, feeling the ghost of John's hands ripping his shirt open to expose his chest. Again, he watches John's gaze drop to his parted lips, making heat spread from his belly.

"If you hadn't been," he murmurs, eyes slowly making their way back up to hold Rook's gaze. "I would've had to get my hands dirty."

Rook swallows down a dry throat. He's not sure what John is referring to—bribes, blood, something else.

"Disappointed?"

A sly grin, eyes twinkling. John chuckles quietly as he takes a step back, Rook feeling as if he can finally breathe normally again.

"I'm not sure yet," he hums, sounding thoughtful.

Rook doesn't know what to say to that, just watching John back up with a faint smirk on his lips, until finally turning around. He walks out the door leading to the back garden, leaving Rook alone in the dim living room.

"Rook." At the sound of his name, Rook turns to see Joseph in the opposite doorway, approaching him with a warm smile. He's no longer wearing the flower crown—much to Faith's disappointment, Rook imagines—but some remnants of it remain in his hair. "I was worried I'd missed you."

"No, I—" Rook shakes his head, feeling overwhelmed yet again by having Joseph's full attention as the man stops right in front of him. They're alone now, the sound of voices from the garden fading into the background. Rook lets out a breath, swallowing down a suddenly dry throat. His heart skips a beat. "I need to talk to you."

Joseph simply nods, smile slowly fading as if sensing just how nervous Rook is. He reaches out, hand touching Rook's arm briefly.

"Easy," he hums.

Rook nods, trying to calm his heart but it only beats faster and faster. He meets Joseph's wondering eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue, having circled around inside his head for so long, and he's scared to finally say them out loud.

"I want to join. I— I want to be one of you."

 _I want to feel loved. I want to feel safe. I want it more than anything_.

Joseph's face lights up, and it makes Rook's chest feel warm. He wishes that was it, that he didn't have to say anything else. He doesn't want to ruin The Father's happiness, doesn't want to see the _pride_ turn into _disappointment_ , but he can't leave it unsaid. Not this time.

"But there's—" His voice cracks. Rook swallows around the lump in his throat. "There's something you should know first. I'm—"

_—tainted—_

_—wrong_ —

— _confused_ —

"—gay," Rook whispers, unable to keep himself from flinching at the word.

It feels wrong, to say that word it in front of someone like Joseph. He steels himself, waiting to be sent away and told to never come back. Told that God would never choose someone like him for anything. He can't look Joseph in the eye, too scared of what he'll find there. Disgust? Betrayal? Anger? The silence is killing him.

But then Joseph reaches out again, cupping his face with both hands. Rook barely manages not to flinch, not expecting the gentle touch.

"Rook. Listen to me," Joseph pleads, voice soft but firm at the same time. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you. When I said we accept you exactly the way you are, I _meant_ it. God loves you. I love you." Rook stares at him, heart in his throat. Joseph's eyes are full of sympathy. "You're far from the only one in our ranks who've been told the same hurtful lies. But it's not something to be shamed. God would never support such hate, and anyone who told you otherwise were _wrong_."

Rook can feel the tears burn behind his eyes, so he squeezes his eyes shut. He feels exposed, naked and vulnerable, but not to the point where he wants to turn away and hide. Instead he clings to Joseph's words with everything he's got, listening to The Father condemning people he's never met. He chooses to trust, to believe.

"I don't want to leave," he admits, voice breaking. "Not yet. I don't— I don't want to leave and just wait to come back. Not again—"

"Shh, child, it's alright," Joseph murmurs, one hand moving to cup the back of his head. Rook hadn't realized how his voice has risen in volume as he went on, sounding slightly panicked towards the end. Joseph hushes him softly. "You don't have to leave. It's alright."

Rook nods absently, letting out a shaky breath. He focuses on Joseph's hand that moves down in a petting motion. It should feel condescending, but it doesn't. It's just comforting, no matter how small it makes him feel. He hasn't allowed himself to feel small in a long time.

For years, he's had to be strong in order to survive on his own. And he's _tired_. Tired of only having himself to rely on, of keeping up appearances. He's tired of denying who he is, of being scared. He wants safety. He wants community. He wants to belong.

Joseph hums softly, hands coming to rest on Rook's shoulders. Eventually Rook dares to open his eyes again, feeling collected enough not to start crying in front of The Father. Joseph studies him for a moment.

"Do you want to stay here, Rook?" He asks gently. "At the ranch? There's a guest room upstairs, if you want it."

Rook's heart jolts, recalling how unsure Nancy had looked when suggesting they'd see each other in the morning. As if she'd known he might not show up for work tomorrow. That he might stay here. And he feels horrible, thinking about Whitehorse and Pratt and Hudson and the others back at the station. But if the world is coming to an end, if all this is real, there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Thank you," he whispers for an answer, not trusting his voice.

Joseph offers him a sad smile, nodding as if to assure him he's making the right choice.

"Rook," he says. "I swear to God that I will never abandon you. Ever." The determination in his voice makes Rook's heart ache. "You're home now." He cups Rook's cheek with one hand, looking deeply into his eyes as if to emphasize his words. A fatherly touch. "You're home."

 

 

 

Faith is the first of the siblings to leave, hugging her three adoptive brothers tightly as they see her off. She surprises Rook by giving him one as well, and he returns it somewhat awkwardly. She smiles at him when they pull back, booping him on the nose and telling him to take care, before getting in the car with two other women.

Next is Jacob, getting behind the wheel of his truck while Rook says goodbye to Boomer. The dog happily jumps up to sit in the passenger seat, head in the open window as Jacob drives off. Rook tries not to feel sad, certain that he'll see Boomer soon again. He waves, and Boomer barks back.

Joseph touches foreheads with John before doing the same to Rook. He tells him they'll see each other again soon, that he's got nothing to fear.

Rook and John stand next to each other on the steps, watching Joseph and the last of the Project's members drive off. The sun is setting, crickets chirping in the tall grass, and the air is comfortably cooler. They stand in loaded silence for a moment, before John turns and walks off without a word. It surprises Rook, having expected him to say something, but stays for a little longer before he, too, heads back inside.

There's no sign of John, and Rook can't decide if he's disappointed or relieved. He goes upstairs to the guest room Joseph had showed him, sitting down on the bed. He's got no belonging with him other than the ones he'd brought this morning, but Joseph had assured him that he could drive back to Missoula and get things from his apartment at any time. That he can come and go as he pleases.

As terrifying as it is, with how much that's changed within the last few weeks, Rook feels _lighter_ than he has in years; as if a big weight has been lifted off his shoulders. The anxiety is still there, the fear of what's to come, but he doesn't feel as helpless as he'd done outside this valley. He wonders how Nancy deals with it, with being so far away from The Father and the bunkers. He'll call in sick in the morning, not feeling ready to go back and face Whitehorse just yet.

Perhaps he never will.

He's not sure how long he sits there, lost in thought. When he eventually looks out his window facing the garden, it's already dark outside. Curious, he goes to look for John.

Rook heads back downstairs, the creak of the floorboards seeming loud in the silence. The living room is dark and untouched, doors still open and curtains moving in the soft breeze. Rook doesn't expect to see the shape on a man sitting on the back porch, facing the yard, and his heart jolts in surprise. Smoke curls through the air, and it's not until Rook steps outside he sees that it comes from the cigarette in John's hand.

John doesn't acknowledge Rook's presence, just takes another drag with his eyes on dark landscape.

"Hey," Rook still says, slipping his hands into his pockets as he hangs back just past the threshold.

John exhales, smoke flowing out of his mouth.

"You need something, Deputy?"

His tone is not cruel or dismissive, but rather _reserved_. Rook shrugs with one shoulder, even though John might not be able to see it.

"No, I just— I was just wondering where you went off to," he admits.

John scoffs, as if trying to mock him, only it sounds hollow.

"Ah," John says, looking down on the cigarette resting between two of his fingers. "Well." He sounds absent, fingers twitching. Whatever cockiness he had possessed moments before seems to slowly seep out of him, shoulders relaxing. "Big social events like this—" He cuts himself off, as if not sure how to finish the sentence. "I prefer to be alone for a while, afterwards."

It sounds so _genuine_ that Rook can't help but be taken aback by it. He blinks, chest feeling tight with overwhelming empathy. He swallows.

"To recharge your batteries?"

Even before he left home, before everything fell apart, he'd went to bed most nights feeling exhausted after being surrounded by people all day. It'd been so draining, to constantly keep his walls up, to pretend to be someone he wasn't. Even when it was just his family he'd had to keep up the facade, never letting his guard down. Even now, when not having anyone to pretend to when he got back home, he still often gets exhausted after being in bigger social situations.

John turns to look at him then, a rawness to him that throws Rook's whole world off balance.

"Yeah," John drawls. "Something like that."

The moment drags on for a few more seconds, before John turns away again. He clears his throat, some of the tension returning to his shoulders, as he takes another drag from the cigarette.

"So," he says then, his usual confidence returning to his voice. "You met your dog."

Rook hums in acknowledgement, looking out over the dark forest.

"Felt like meeting a ghost."

John makes a thoughtful noise, exhaling another puff of smoke before speaking again.

"Perhaps you'd like to meet some more." He glances over his shoulder to meet Rook's frown, a sly smile tugging at his mouth. Then he stands up, bringing the cigarette to his lips for a last, long drag. "I'm heading down to Fall's End in the morning," he announces, eyes on the joint as he drops it down on the stone to choke it under his shoe. He looks back up, meeting Rook's gaze. "You should come with me."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me happy but comments keep me going ♡


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